


Not a Good Man

by Ivyzord



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Gen, Kim's perspective, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Sad, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25213909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivyzord/pseuds/Ivyzord
Summary: Heavily inspired by: Rigorous Self-Critique.A story happens as if Harry got a thought later, after working with Kim for quite some time.Fair warning: The thought from the game is featured and the solution part is dark.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois & Kim Kitsuragi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	Not a Good Man

**Author's Note:**

> Problem
> 
> You're one sorry piece of shit. A cop penitent, a flagellant cop-monk. This is not the right line of work for you. You should be grovelling at the feet of a feudal lord, providing lurid evidence against yourself at a Mazovian show trial, or ripping the flesh from your back with a cat-of-nine-tails. Whatever made you this way – you can be damn sure it was *your* own fault. Do it. *Really* criticize yourself. Who knows? You might uncover something of importance from your guilt-ridden past!

It happened one morning. It was always bound to happen.  A logical, factual string of thoughts you seem to follow should have gotten you ready for that.  But there are things that come as a shock no matter how familiar, possible or inevitable they are.  You have chosen not to dwell on that.  For you Harry’s relapse is a concept much like the pale swallowing the planet.  Best left alone, inevitable and painful.  The two thoughts occupy the same shadowy space within the depths of your mind.

He have told you once to leave him if you ever find him ‘like that’. He didn’t specify what it meant exactly but you suspect that might be it. Maybe you should respect that and actually leave him but you can’t bring yourself to.

The man now resembles the disheveled creature you have met for the first time in the Whirling-in-Rags cafeteria. Somehow you hoped you both have left it there, in that trashed room among the broken glass, human fluids and smell of decay.

Yet it somehow crawled back. Unclothed and pathetic, now occupying a skin of someone who grew important to you. He sits on the floor among a mess consisting mostly of bottles. A pair of bloodshot eyes rise up to meet your harsh stare. As much as you want to keep your emotions to yourself, now more then usual, you are sure that some of it bleeds through. You’re not sure if he can see the anger or the worry, or if he is even able to register anything, but he quickly averts his eyes in shame.

He opens and closes his mouth uselessly a few times and you’re not sure what will come out of it.  Puke, spit, words... What he finally musters, with a voice so deflated and defeated, makes you almost wish he would just vomit instead.

“I’m not a good man.”

You stand there dumbfounded, having no possible comeback, no reaction.  You don’t like the feeling, being unsure.  Harry braves another look up, eyes blurry, trying to focus somewhere on your face.

“I’m not a good man, Kim.” The raspy whine makes the hair on your neck stand straight.

You don’t know what to do with it.  You never knew what to do with those situations. You want to help, protest but should you? You don't know him for that long and you have no proclivity for empty words. Your silly rigid notion of honesty leaves you paralyzed to silently bear witness to the destruction as Harry absentmindedly guides a bottle to his lips.

As if trying you where trying not to scare a wild animal you slowly take a step forward. He drops the bottle. Leaving a thin trail of cheap wine, it rolls away from him until it hits your boot. He seems startled, as if he just realized you are actually there, as if before something physical touched you, he might have been talking to a figment of his imagination.  He slowly starts to raise from the floor, but he doesn't get up. He just falls back to his knees before you.

“I’m so sorry Kim. I'm so sorry.  I can’t stand the shit in my head. I thought I can be someone else, but this animal is still in me.” He looks down. You can’t see his face but you know, you can hear that he is crying. “It will never leave. No matter what I do." His fists are squeezed tight, pushing into the floor.  "I can't stand myself anymore." He breathes in and out heavily, with some strain. "And you wouldn’t like me if you knew me."

He looks up to you, as if you where some religious icon. Maybe he's searching for forgiveness or for punishment but you have nothing to give. You never asked for this position, you’re not going to accept it. You want to help but you can never be this. Not even for him. You are left hollowed by the man’s confessions. You stay silent, unable to offer neither guidance nor repentance.

“I remember now what I was. I’m a piece of shit, Kim.” His voice is uncharacteristically whiny and almost surprised. “I don’t deserve the chance you where trying to give me.” He’s face is crumpled by pain.

You crouch by him. You might sound a bit harsh but that’s the only way you can make yourself say anything. Through a thick layer of emotionless professionalism. “Listen to me, detective. You’re going to take a shower and get dressed. We have a job to do. There are people you are supposed to be helping.” You manage to soften your tone a little but it’s not without it’s toll on you. “And you’re good at it, Harry. Maybe you’ll feel better if you can focus on that.” _There is nothing there in the past. No way to change it._ You think. _Trust me on this. It’_ _s useless to try._

He averts his eyes. They have only gotten redder and more hollow. You put a hand on Harry’s shoulder not sure if you want the gesture to come as harsh or reassuring. In response Harry grabs onto you with force. Big hands clutching desperately to the sleeves of your jacket. Another bout of crying comes over him.

“I’m not a good man.” He speaks and the smell of half-digested alcohol hits you hard. You do all you can not to wince. 

“Maybe not but not many really are.”  _You can still do good things._

“I don’t deserve this.” It’s almost a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Doesn't matter. I’m here anyway.” The weeping slowly gets weaker.

It takes another moment but it seems he is all cried out.  You help Harry stand up.  He manages to find his balance and for a moment he just stands there, emotion washed away from his face by exhaustion.

“Now, detective, are you ready for work?” You assure yourself that it has to be at least slightly better than drinking and wallowing in self-pity.

He gives you a shadow of an apologetic smile as he weakly nods. Unable to cope anymore you say “Right. Get dressed. I’ll wait outside.”

You weren't supposed to let anyone have such a grip on your emotions. You should be free of such influence by now. With a shaking hand you reach for the pack of cigarettes in your jacket.  It’s early. You didn’t plan on smoking now. You lit up anyway.

When a blessed hit of nicotine hits your lungs, filling it with a deadly smoke, you breathe the sigh of relief. You look at the cigarette resting between your fingers.  You’re poisoning yourself a little everyday. You're always taking precautions but then you invite some danger back in. You separate your work from your private life but the walls you have erected are, apparently, not airtight enough. What are you even doing? You hate it sometimes. The way that Harry makes you think about the things that where already put in order and automatized long ago.

You take another deep drag, trying to get yourself lost in the taste and slight rush it gives you.  What even is a good person? Can you ever be truly good?  Or does life beats it out of anybody who tries?  You believe in doing good things, although getting to do that in it’s purest form is rare.  The chances are few, far between and rarely without consequences.

You have finished your cigarette far to quickly. You don't like standing uselessly, letting uninvited thoughts into your head but you can’t make yourself go back there now. It comes with relief when you finally hear shuffling behind the door and soon see Harry leaving the apartment on wobbly legs. Sad and exhausted but dressed and as ready as anyone can ever be for this job. Not the worst state in which you have seen him working successfully. Air is heavy around you but you’re not going to talk about it. You’re gonna push it down, push on through and hope that it will be alright. It’s not your job to address it, to repair him. You'd like to help somehow, but you’re not qualified. All you can do for now is be here for him, even if you’re not entirely sure what that even means. Good man or not, you would like to see him get better.

**Author's Note:**

> Solution
> 
> Here it is. Hard facts from the man you are. You once jerked off in the locker room and were caught. You held a young woman by the arm and kept her in your apartment for 20 minutes against her will. That's right, these are not flights of fancy. These are *real deeds*, Harry, emerging from the darkness of your past. You tried shooting a fleeing suspect in the foot but hit him in the pelvis, crippling him for life. And above all, you let life defeat you. All the gifts your parents gave you, all the love and patience of your friends, you drowned in a neurotoxin. You let misery win. And it will keep on winning till you die - or overcome it.


End file.
